The Chronicles of Mike Chang
by kittymchale
Summary: Follow Mike Chang on his journey to finding his way through high school. The pain, the happiness, the love. Maybe, Mike can find his path to greatness with a little bit of work.
1. Prologue

**Why, hello. I'm Emily. **

**What am I doing? I never introduce myself in the beginning of fics. Oh, well. NO REGRETS.**

So, uhh, I guess I'm Mike Chang. Who really knows right now? I mean, I'm in high school. Isn't high school the time when you are really supposed to figure out this stuff? Anyway, I'm in 10th grade right now, but that's going to change by the time anyone reads this, if anyone reads it in the first place. I'm "totally Asian", according to Brittany. Is that all that matters to people? The fact that I'm Asian? Anyway, my face is kind of square, I guess, or no one would call me "box head". Just because I've got a strong jaw, doesn't mean I have to be called rude names. I don't think my head is boxy.

I'm kind of tall and built up some muscle on myself, basically all from dance classes. I've got some sweet abs and I'm not afraid to admit that they are awesome. They totally are.

I've got black hair and black eyes. How boring. I wish I had a cool color, like yellow or something. No one has yellow eyes. I'd be the coolest dude ever. All of the chicks would dig me, just because I had totally sweet eyes.

I'm getting off track. I'm pretty bad at...well, everything. I'm not really talented, besides my dancing. I've been dancing since I was around 5 years old. My mom actually enrolled me in ballet for a while when I was 7. I had no idea that that was totally girly and something I shouldn't have told all of the boys in my class. I guess it doesn't really matter, but sometimes Puck calls me "ballet boy". I've taken basically every other dance class known to man. Hip-hop, ballroom, tap...basically every class you could ever think of. I can sort of sing, but not really. I'm not really sure. I sound good to myself, but that's just because I'm inside my head...Does that even make sense? You know, how you sound different to yourself than you do to other people? I could be awesome to myself, but everyone else could think I suck. I don't know if anyone will ever hear, anyway. I mostly keep everything confined to my room.

I guess I'll get the ball rolling with the first entry in the Mike Chang Chronicles. I'm going to call these entries, "Journeys", just because I believe everything you do in life is a little path that contributes to the journey of life. Oh well, let's get started.

**So, umm...This is going to be sort of "Journal-esque," but not really. I don't know how to explain it. It's going to be me...trying to be humorous. Hopefully I succeed.**

**Reviews are my favorite, okay, so never hesitate to give one, if you can :)**


	2. Journey 1: Art

_Journey 1: Art._

So, I guess I've never been an artsy person. I joined art class because my mom thought I would get in touch with my "Asian roots" or something, but it was all crap. She wouldn't let me quit after I protested (very loudly, I might add) and put up a sure fight to join something else. Once I knew she wasn't going to take anymore fighting, I had to take it like a man. My dad also started screaming at me in Chinese and I knew once that happened, I either had to do what he said or choose to die.

Day one of art class, do your worst.

Day one of art class _did _do it's worst. I have no expressive talent. I don't know how to express myself, if it's even possible. So, the first day, the art teacher, Mrs. Raine, was thoroughly irritated with me when I didn't know what to do for the first project. She told us to draw a picture that expressed our true feelings. I sat in front of a blank piece of paper, mouth hanging open with a sharpened pencil in my hand. I am pretty sure I was drooling, too. I didn't know how to "draw my feelings". I didn't even know how to feel my feelings. I closed my eyes, trying to look deep into my mind for what I was supposed to draw. I saw a pineapple, but that was probably just because I was hungry, I saw some M&M's, my dad's red, screaming face, shrieking in unintelligible Chinese swear words. Nothing. I don't understand how any of those represented my feelings at all. It didn't make any sense to me. I could draw and draw and draw, but you wouldn't know what's actually happening in my head. I raised my hand, shooting my arm up into the air. The art teacher waddled over to me, wheezing and pouting. She glanced at my blank paper, squinting at me. I could see the sweat beading on her forehead. Gross. I noticed she was standing a little bit too far away from me to make it look like she was listening. It's like I had germs or something.

"Uhh, Mrs. Raine, I have no clue what I'm supposed to do here," I said, looking up at her. I scooched my arm away from her, making sure her sweat wouldn't drip on to my new flannel. It was bright yellow, but it was totally awesome. She sucked in her cheeks and pursed her lips, furrowing her eyebrows. She took off her glasses for some reason. Maybe to get a better view of me, but that made no sense. Why would she take her glasses off to get a good look at something? Isn't that working backward?

"What don't you understand, Micheal?" She asked rudely, her jowls swinging as she talked. This was going to be a long class if I had to watch her cheeks jiggle all of the time like that. I looked down at my paper, immediately wondering why I did that. Did the paper have the answers or something? No. It didn't. I could hear Mrs. Raine tapping her foot impatiently, highly anticipating my answer.

"This project is senseless. I see feelings as color or something, not an object itself. If I'm happy, what am I going to draw? A sun? A puppy? A girlfriend? Isn't that a little..._dumb?_ I mean, I could draw for a long time, but feelings change. My feelings could change half-way through the drawing. What would I do, erase it?" I asked her, worrying if I was too rude.

Open mouth, insert foot.

"Art is a constant expression of feeling!" Mrs. Raine growled, her face reddening, "Just put down your pencil and draw the first thing that comes to mind! Next time, think about things before you ask pointless questions!" She raised her voice, waddling away from me again.

Open mouth, insert overly sharpened pencil.

I didn't care anymore at that point. I just put my pencil down and drew a lopsided bear. I like to say it represented how much I hated art class. It's ears were kind of pointy and it's cheeks drooped a little bit. I made it's teeth showing. Yeah. Hardcore.

I glanced around me, noticing a red-headed girl spending too much time on drawing some kind of abstract person or something. I didn't really care. I leaned back in my chair, waiting for the class to end. Mrs. Raine glared at me a couple of times. I returned the glares. I'm glad she didn't see them. If she talked to my parents, it would be constant Chinese yelling for a couple of months.

I was a good kid, I would say, but when I had to do pointless, mindless tasks, I got angry. I didn't like doing things that were tedious and didn't serve any purpose. That's probably why Art class was going to be torture. It was things like this that made me want to leave the room and never come back. At least I only had to take this class every day for half of the year. Ugh.

I sat there idly for around 15 minutes, doodling on my bear until it actually looked like a bear. It's fur kind of looked like it was made out of sticks or hay or something. Oh, well. I don't think this was supposed to be graded anyway. I just had to look like I was doing something so Mrs. Raine wouldn't come over and peep over my shoulder. Am I the only one who hates that? When you are trying to do something and someone is breathing over your shoulder like some kind of animal? Drives me insane.

After some time, Mrs. Raine clapped her hands, her arms following a couple of seconds later. Her arms swung a little bit as she moved them around. I repeat, gross.

"Listen up, kids! Listen up!" She called in the silent room, everyone already having their eyes on her. I heard some lanky, tall guy stifling a laugh. I glanced back at him. He had huge ear gauges, probably big enough to fit a bottle cap in. His hair was sandy brown, messy but working well. He had his eyebrow pierced, the piercing glistening in the light. He had a flannel on, too, which was pretty cool. It was green, rolled up to his elbows. His hand was cupped over his mouth, struggling to keep his giggles inside. He looked like I did, the amused smirk on his face, not really paying attention to what he was supposed to be doing, "You're all going to go up one at a time to present your pictures and why you drew them." I ran my fingers through my hair. Great. I had to explain my bear. My bear with lopsided legs and floppy jaws. Mrs. Raine must have thought I was being sarcastic or something, because she glared at me again, "Micheal Chang, you'll go first." She paused again, "While you're at it, introduce yourself and tell us two things about you."

Open mouth, insert lopsided bear.

I walked up to the front of the room, sloppy bear in one hand. The whole class picked me apart with their eyes, the red-head having the Rachel-esque judgy look in hers. I swept my eyes over the room, taking inventory on who I had to deal with all year.

Three girls, whispering to each other. They were going to annoy me, I just knew it. Two brunettes, one with a long face, the other with a small nose and bright eyes. There was also a blonde, her long hair tucked behind her head in a pony tail. Her voice was high and chipper...with a "valley girl" accent. These three, I would try my hardest to avoid.

Two guys drawing pictures of flames on their papers. They called themselves "pyromaniacs". They will also be avoided. I didn't want them to burn my house down. One had bright red hair and a heavily freckled face. The other one was a heavy-set guy with a leather jacket. He had glasses that matched my grandfather's. His bottom lip stuck out a little too far, making him look like a little kid. I bet he wore diapers. I bet Mrs. Raine wore diapers, too.

Ear gauge guy was sitting next to another girl, one with long, curly, black hair. Her bangs were pinned back, held back with a little barrette. I hated those things. My mom wore them all of the time, which left me constantly prone to stepping on them. Those hurt worse than stepping on Legos. My little cousins would drag those damn Legos out from under my bed and never put them away. I would have to pick them up myself. I absolutely hated it, usually because they would hide them in places I would never find them, like my dog's toy bin. Whenever Meeko would drag a toy out of there, the Legos would come with it.

The black haired girl had exaggerated eyebrows and brilliant blue eyes. It made her look slightly like a cat. A gentle cat, not like my aunt's cat. Every time I went to my aunt's house to babysit my cousins, that cat would attack my feet.

A group of six girls, were sitting at a table together, not paying much attention. One of them was Quinn, looking around mindlessly. She was sitting with three brunettes and two other blondes. One of them was putting on makeup. She had gigantic eyes with huge hazel irises. They were all Cheerios. All of them had their hair pulled back in the same curly ponytails. They didn't really look much different from each other. Even their movements were the same. They all moved in sync. Before I presented, I noticed Quinn look at me. Her eyes flickered a little bit and she looked back away, following the other Cheerio's eyes.

Several other boys were scattered around the room. I noticed Puck was in the class, too. Karofsky and Azimio sat next to him.

"Ballet boy," Puck fake coughed, covering his mouth with his fist. I squinted at him, a smirk spreading across my face.

Everyone else in the room was filed in their own little groups. Cheerios, weirdoes, populars (that still weren't as popular as the Cheerios), people who just didn't give a damn, people who gave too much of a damn, outcasts and jocks. The only person I couldn't file into a group was ear-gauge guy. He didn't have a place in any of the cliques I could think of. He was a loner, just like me. I wasn't anywhere, either.

"Hey, I'm Mike Chang," I introduced, getting a muffled laugh from Puck, Azimio and Karofsky. I shot them a look, getting back to my presentation, "I guess two things about me could be that I really like dancing and I don't know how to do laundry." I don't. That wasn't a lie to fill in the silence. I, Mike Chang, don't know how to do laundry. The whole classroom erupted in laughter. That was probably a bad way to introduce myself.

Open mouth, insert dirty laundry.

Ear gauge guy was sitting there, arms still crossed, not caring at all. He seemed like a pretty chill guy. We could hang out, I bet.

"Uhh, I guess I drew a bear. As I told Mrs. Raine earlier, this assignment is a joke and I have no clue why I drew a bear. I guess I just felt like drawing a bear. Maybe it represents the fact that I'm super hungry and the wintertime makes me sleepy. Maybe it represents the fact that I was angry I had to do such a senseless project. Okay, I understand that I was just being super rude right there, but art is creative expression, right? I was just creatively expressing my opinion." Mrs. Raine pressed her lips into a thin line, adjusting her long, denim skirt. Note to self: when your mom gets old, never let her wear denim skirts. Also, don't let her style her hair in weird, little, white puffs. One more thing, don't let her get fat and sweaty.

"Great," She said enthusiastically, thick with sarcasm, "Isabella Williams?" She called up one of the Cheerios, bouncing happily up to the room. She was ditzy, I could tell already.

"Hi, everybody! I'm Isabella Williams! I'm a Cheerio and I like kittens!" She said, nearly cheering. I rolled my eyes. I was waiting for the clap and high kick. She proceeded to show us a picture of a cereal box smiling. Apparently it was because she was happy to be a Cheerio. Ha. Cue comical drums.

A high, piercing sound flooded the room. The bell for the next class. Thank God. I left the room happily, throwing my bear in the garbage on the way out. Mrs. Raine shot me a disapproving look as I left. I gave her an overly enthusiastic, sarcastic wave as I left, leaving her with a frown on her face.

Day one of art class, over. I survived. I should write a novel about how I survived. I probably should write up my will if I don't survive the next class.

I went to my locker, scooping the books I needed for my next class in my right arm, noticing ear gauge guy standing several feet away, pulling a notebook and several stray papers out of the dinghy, yellow locker. He flicked his hand at me, not exactly with enough enthusiasm to count as a wave. He raised his eyebrows and slammed the metal door shut, waltzing over to me.

"You really don't know how to do laundry, dude?" He asked, an air of amusement in his voice. His voice had a little bit of a squeak to it, making the end of his sentences sound like noisy ducks, if that made sense. A lot of things I said didn't make sense to people.

"No. You think I'd lie about that?" I asked, pulling more things out of my locker. I had Spanish after that and I'm pretty sure Mr. Schuester gave us three textbooks just to torture us.

"I'm Ryan Alley. I don't mean to step off on the wrong foot, but I'm kind of new here and I don't really know anyone," He said sheepishly, sticking out a hand to me. I accepted his hand, replaying his words in my head for a moment. Why did people say "kind of" in front of everything? How can you be "kind of" new? It was the second day of school. You were new or you weren't.

"I'm Mike Chang," I replied brightly before remembering Art Class, "But, you probably already knew that." I mumbled, letting go of Ryan's hand. Ryan's light chuckle followed my words. I glanced up at him. I never realized how tall he was until now. He had to be nearly six-foot-four. Ryan scratched the back of his head, squinting one eye. I don't know why, but it was really humorous to me to see his hand through one of his ear gauges.

"By the way, I totally agree. Art class is a joke. Hell, _school_ is a joke. Once I'm out of here, I'm out of Ohio. I'm not coming back," He laughed, leaning his back on the lockers next to me. This guy was totally chill, like a turtle or something, "I'll see you around, dude." He waved, chuckling again. I was right. This dude and I could be bros. I walked down the hallway, heading to Spanish.

I floated through the rest of the day, paying moderate attention. Everyone still had the "After-Summer Plague", where everyone was socializing about what they did over the summer, even though they were mostly all together the entire summer. That made no sense to me. Matt and I just kind of sat there with nothing to talk about. We hung out the whole summer. We mostly hung out at Finn's, just because he and his mom just bought a pool. We helped him set it up, granting us unlimited pool access. Finn didn't mind. Puck was gone the whole summer on a trip to New York with his family to go visit his aunts or something. That's what he told me, at least. I remember him being home fine and hanging out with his "other friends" as he said (he didn't say who, however) and all of the sudden, he left.

Setting up that damn pool was the most awful thing I've ever had to do. First of all, it was about 96 degrees and the sun beat down on us all day as we built up that above-ground pool from the inside. Finn forgot to put up the ladder, so we were stuck inside of there for a little while until we helped each other out. Finn finally put up the ladder when we escaped.

We didn't mooch off of Finn's pool _all_ vacation. My mom was cleaning out the house one day in July and found my old Nintendo 64. Once we dug up Mario Kart, Matt and I were set for life. I always lost. Matt was awesome at Mario Kart, beating me by a lap every time. It was usually because he would hit my controller half-way through the race so I would drop it on the ground. Once I started to sit away from him, I wouldn't lose as badly.

Ryan sat with Matt and I at lunch. He didn't really say much, besides talking about how hot the Cheerios were. Matt squinted, sucking in his cheeks. Matt was dating Santana. She was just up going to get some food. Matt didn't say anything to him. I wasn't sure how well this was going to work out.

I had to ride the bus home from school because my truck was being repaired. It broke down a few days ago when I was riding back from Matt's house. We probably over-used it during the summer, driving each other back and forth. My truck wasn't meant for that type of wear. It was probably 20 years old and falling apart right in front of my eyes. My dad was going to get rid of it over the summer, but once I got my license I took it for myself. Matt and I were the only ones who had their licenses already, but that was probably because we were older than everyone else. We started kindergarten later than everyone. We were both 17 already.

I think one day one of the mirrors fell off while I was driving over to Finn's. Matt was in the seat next to me, laughing hysterically. We had to stop in the road to pick it up, dodging the traffic trying to pass through. I'm pretty sure I almost died a couple of times. One of the cars passed by me at full speed, just scraping by me. Mr. Hummel is probably tired of fixing it. He's tried to convince me countless times to give it up and sell the good parts, but I don't want to. My red, rusting, falling apart truck is my favorite and I won't give it up until it really kicks the bucket.

Anyway, the bus was an awful place. Little kids were shrieking over nothing, most of their screams directed toward me. I shoved my iPod into my ears, attempting to lay low. It didn't really work. Kids were jumping around, trying to climb up on my lap. I glanced up at the bus driver, who really wasn't paying attention. I was mostly concerned about being drooled on as the kids touched my face with their sticky fingers. I didn't want to kick them off of me, just because I would have felt bad yelling at them. I didn't know how to deal with little kids, so I didn't.

"Keep these kids under control," I muttered to the bus driver as I jumped off of the high step. I checked myself for any residue from the strange kids. Nothing. I breathed with relief. I mean, little kids were fine, just not sticky, screaming ones that I didn't know. I had little cousins that I had to babysit all of the time. I wasn't afraid of telling them what to do. That was the difference. I couldn't yell at the kids on the bus, just because they'd probably run home and cry to their moms, which would be bad for me. I was pretty much the only Asian guy in the school, which made me easy to identify. I had to learn how to tolerate kids.

Shaking myself from the thoughts, I walked into the house. My mom was stirring something in the kitchen, the smell nearly intoxicating. I loved when my mom cooked lo mein. She made the best noodles ever.

"Hey, Mike!" She smiled, mixing the noodles. She wrapped an arm around my waist as I grabbed a cup of water. She squeezed it lightly before going back to her work.

"Hey, mom," I paused before blurting out without thinking, "Can I just quit Art Class?" My mom's angry gaze was fixed on my face. She looked like an angry cat, waiting to pounce, waiting to clasp on to my face, tearing it off of my skull.

Open mouth, insert pointless questions.

"Do you really hate it that much, Micheal?" She asked, her eyes softening. She looked away, getting flustered. She stirred the vegetables next to the noodles, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Mom, I think the Art teacher sweat on me. She yelled at me for not knowing how to "draw out my feelings"," I complained, making air quotes with my fingers. I leaned against the counter, "Can I please just quit? I'll join something else that's...Asian." I begged. I could tell my mom was thinking because she twisted her lips to the side and ran her fingers through her hair.

"At least stay in for two weeks. You can quit if you really hate it that much after that," She paused again, "Just stay in for a little bit, just for your father, okay? You don't want him thinking that you're a quitter, do you?" I shook my head. My dad frowned upon quitting anything, no matter how ridiculous it is. My dad was a...stubborn man, I guess you could say. He was raised in a very, _very _strict Chinese home. My grandparents are the strictest people I know. Once, my grandpa yelled at me for having a wrinkle in my shirt. I could barely understand him, just because he was speaking Chinese, but I could make out "wrinkle" and "shirt". My mom glanced at me, stopping half-way through a bite of chicken. She almost started giggling, but hid it well enough.

"Fine," I mumbled, hugging my mom loosely. She kissed me on the cheek before I plopped down at the table to do my homework. My parents didn't let me do my homework upstairs at my desk, just because they were "concerned it wasn't going to get done". I always did my homework, anyway. I wouldn't risk not doing it. As I worked on Geometry, I explained my day to my mom, even including how Puck tripped me down the stairs. I didn't get what his deal was or why he disliked me so much. My mom nodded attentively as she finished making dinner, just waiting for my dad to get home. Once he did, I didn't say anything about Art Class. I figured it didn't matter much right then.

"How was your day, Micheal?"

"Fine."

Grunt of approval.

"How was _your _day?"

"Fine."

Nod, nod.

That's what our conversation was limited to. My dad didn't really have much to say, but it was almost like I knew what he wanted to say anyway. I knew he cared about me and my mom more than he cared about life itself. He just didn't really like to show it. Meeko sat at my feet as we ate with the new chopsticks my mom bought. they were really nice and made out of this nice type of plastic that was imported from some crazy country. They had a little intricate design at the top of them. They looked like little flowers wrapped around the end of it, bright and vibrant.

Matt called me later that evening to discuss our plans after school tomorrow, which usually was my cue to go to bed. Matt's drabbling on about Santana usually made me tired, anyway. He knew to hang up once I started yawning and he could hear my bed creak in the background.

The two weeks, I stayed in Art Class like my mom told me to do.

Day two of Art Class, let's begin.

It was exactly the same, besides the fact that we didn't do any work. Everyone presented their crappy pictures and explained themself. Ryan's picture was a bumblebee. I snorted when he presented it, I admit.

"Hey guys, I'm Ryan Alley," He started, most of the girls in the class marveling over his ear gauges. I could see the Cheerios following them with their eyes, "I am striving to stretch my ears further than this," he said, grabbing on to one of his gauges, "and I am really into indie music." He shifted his feet uncomfortably before continuing, "I drew a bee. Now, before you all start giggling and making fun of me, I drew a bee because I'm the type of guy who feels like if you leave me alone, I'll leave you alone. Let me do my thing, and I'll let you do yours. However, if you get all up in my face and bother me, I'll get angry. The only difference is, I don't die when I sting you." Ryan's goosey, light laughter following his presentation. Nobody said a word. Awkwardly, Ryan scratched the back of his head and shuffled away. The silence still loomed over the room as he sat down, the chair squeaking under him. I glanced over at him, my eyes clearly amused. He shook his head, squishing his lips into a straight line. I snuck in some mocking glances toward Mrs. Raine before class ended.

I guess day two was kind of uneventful. After school, it was exactly the same as the day before. Bus, home, homework, dinner, phone, Mario Kart, bed. Day three was a different story.

"Now, you guys are all going to be starting a project today," Mrs. Raine declared once we were all sitting down. She shot me another look. I think everyone in that Art Class thought I was a delinquent or something, just because of how much Mrs. Raine nagged me and looked over at me just to make sure I wasn't being disruptive. It was awkward to see everyone throw me a backward glance, "You'll all be doing a still life drawing using the shading skills you'll be learning today. I will allow you all to choose a subject, as long as it is appropriate for school." There she goes, shooting me looks again. She must really think I'm a bad seed.

The rest of the class Mrs. Raine gave us pencils, each one different than the others. They all had different numbers and different lead in them. She was showing us how to use them, how hard to press, etc. She was extra snooty when she was explaining it to me. Once I think I got a pretty good grasp on what we were supposed to do, we gathered up the pencils we needed and some scrap paper. We had to come up with a subject and make a rough sketch for the next class. She told us to bring in our subject for the next day. The shrill sound of the bell flooded the room again and we all filed out.

"Dude, what are you going to draw?" Ryan asked me, wracking is brain for something. I didn't know yet. This guy didn't waste any time.

"I have no clue. Art is dumb," I mumbled, grabbing my Spanish textbooks. My shoulders are going to be dead by the end of the year with all of this weight on them all of the be honest, I didn't really want to talk to him. He kind of pissed off Matt and I yesterday when he started talking about "slutty girls" in our school. He mentioned Santana, Matt's current girlfriend, and Brittany, my ex-girlfriend. We broke up during the summer. I think she broke up with me for some new guy or something. It doesn't matter anymore, but she's a nice girl and _no one _should be calling her a slut. That's just wrong.

I guess today, all of the yelling we did went to waste when Ryan sat with us at lunch again. Matt squinted at me skeptically. I shrugged my shoulders at him and continued picking at my sandwich.

Later that night, I sat in my room, searching for something to draw for my project. I didn't really know what to do, just like a lot of things. I flopped back on my bed, staring up at my ceiling. I heard a squeak next to me, followed by Meeko trying to shove a bunny toy in my hand. I looked down at him, raising an eyebrow. That's when I knew what I should do.

Meeko has had that toy since he was a puppy. It's kind of beat up now, but I think it means a lot to both of us. I gave it to him when I was a little kid. It was my first stuffed animal, and he's taken good care of it. I guess it symbolizes that even if things get old and worn, they can still mean a lot to people. Meeko is getting old, so old that it's starting to worry me. That doesn't stop him from wanting to play all of the time, though.

I pulled the toy out of his jaws, getting a squeak in protest. Meeko panted and jumped up on to my bed, laying on top of my feet. I couldn't help but smile. I sat there for a second, petting Meeko gently with an easy hand. Meeko was my best pal. A true best pal who will always stick with me through thick and thin.

I sketched out the bunny, failing horribly. It didn't really matter as I shoved the paper, pencils and slobbery toy in my backpack for the next day. My phone buzzed furiously in my pocket.

_Incoming call: Matt_

Bedtime.

The next day, Mrs. Raine glanced over all of our drawings, giving me a further look of disapproval.

"Is nothing good enough for you, lady?" I asked rudely, getting an offended look in return, "Don't you think it's kind of rude of you to always be looking down on me!" She cleared her throat, ignoring my questions completely, "Even from the first day, you've never even made an effort to treat me like a normal student!" The whole class was staring at me and that's when I really realized it. I'm Chinese.

My Art teacher is racist.

This old, fat, sweaty lady was racist.

Hear me out, I know that sounds stupid, but it all clicks.

"It's because I'm Asian, isn't it?" I said as she was walking away, getting a glare in return. She didn't say a thing, just waddled away even further. She wheezed and puffed, her face reddening. I picked up everything and stormed out of the classroom. No one even offered me a passing glance. I went straight to the Spanish room after grabbing my books out of my locker. I knew Mr. Schuester had a free period, so I just hung out there until it was time for Spanish.

I explained the whole thing to my mom. She didn't mind calling the school, screaming, withdrawing me from Art, telling them I would meet with the guidance counselor the next day _and _giving me options of my own. I gave her a huge hug before running upstairs to call Matt.

I told him everything that happened, getting the dumbest response I've ever heard in return.

"That's awesome! Let's go get Chinese food to celebrate!"

**Okay, so if any of you lovely little walruses could take a second to tell me what you think, we could be friends forever. I wanted to try this out, just to see what it's like. **


End file.
